


Your Lonely Soul

by lostinparallel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Everything Hurts, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, some gruesome imagery because of vivid dreams and ghost stuff, why did you do this to me jk rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2093364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.”<br/>The Battle of Hogwarts claimed the lives of many. Fred Weasley was among the deceased.<br/>George refuses let his brother go and Fred's spirit can’t move on until he has peace of mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say something, I'm giving up on you  
> I'll be the one, if you want me to  
> Anywhere I would've followed you  
> Say something, I'm giving up on you
> 
> And I am feeling so small  
> It was over my head  
> I know nothing at all.
> 
> \- A Great Big World, Say Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of terrified that George is going to seem really ooc because I’m writing it in first person from his perspective, but I feel like what happened at the Battle of Hogwarts would really change him for a while and he wouldn’t exactly be cracking jokes or pulling pranks. Like JKR said, he would've felt like a part of him had died with Fred.  
> I’ve wanted to write about this for years and I’ve finally started, so thank you to my dear friend Isobel for encouraging me to do it. I love you to pieces. Here we go!

He watches me. Wide, unseeing eyes stare blankly ahead, void of all the light and laughter that once filled them.

I had forgotten what silence sounds like. Now that all the screaming and sobbing and spells bounding off the walls has faded, I'm left with a small whisper of conversation, murmuring through the Great Hall like a trickling stream, reminding me that all of this is real.

The dead, neglected by their mourners, have been moved out of the hall and into the grounds where McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey are already discussing an appropriate place to bury them, as though there wasn't air in their lungs and life in their hearts not even an hour ago.

“I won’t let them take you,” I mutter, clenching my hands into fists.

My legs ache from kneeling on the cold, stone tiled floor, now littered with rubble and pieces of jagged rock. I hear the joints crack as I shift position, forcing myself to look at his body again.

It doesn't look like my brother, all pale skin and broken bones where warmth and bright laughter once shone through. The only thing I recognise as belonging to Fred is the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, twisting the otherwise grim expression into one of complacency.

“Even in your last moments, you couldn't keep that stupid grin off your face.” My voice cracks on the last word, breath hitching in my throat, and I soon give up on talking altogether because what’s the point when there’s no one around to listen.

I hear footsteps against the stone flooring and suddenly there is a warm presence beside me.

Luna Lovegood kneels down next to Fred and raises a tentative hand towards his face. Two slender fingers gently lower Fred’s eyelids until they fall shut and the dull brown of his irises is no longer visible.

“There, now he could be sleeping,” she says, and her voice is soft with all the serenity and wisdom of someone much older, someone who’s been through this before.

I gaze up at Luna as she leans away from Fred’s body, searching her expression for a readable emotion, something that will tell me how I should feel, because this swirling emptiness eating away at me is horrifying. She absently runs a hand through her dirt caked hair, and despite the blood and grime coating her pale skin, she smiles.

I can’t bring myself to return the favour. The muscles in my face twitch and I begin to feel my lower lip tremble, so I stop trying and I allow my mouth to set in a hard line. Her smile doesn't falter and she reaches out to wrap her hand around mine, gently stroking her thumb along the ridges of my knuckles. Dried blood and dirt are buried beneath my finger nails from scraping them along the harsh stone, and I finally muster up the strength to pull away from her.

Her expression doesn't change even as I stagger to my feet and turn away from Fred, walking away from the one thing I thought I would never lose.

I pass Filch in the corridor as I exit the Great Hall, idly sweeping at a pile of rubble that is blocking one of the classrooms. He squats to pick up a stone and chucks it onto the pile, letting out a low grunt of frustration.

Filch doesn’t glare at me like he did when I was wandering about the castle wearing school uniform. My first thought is that being an adult gives me a new air of authority – I probably earn twice as much in a month as he does in a year, or at least I _did_. But then I realise, Filch has lost everything. Hogwarts is his home, as Fred is mine. And if Fred is gone then a part of me has gone with him. Filch nods at me in acknowledgement and I stare back. I guess we’re finally even.

Small lamps hang from the battered walls of the castle, dimly lighting the passages with an eerie yellow glow. Entire portions of the corridors have been blown open and I shiver as a chilling draft rushes through from the grounds outside.

It’s raining. Icy water cascades from the bleak sky, pattering against the bridge where dust and debris cover the smooth stone. I look up at the grey canvas looming over my head and allow it to wash over me, soaking through my torn clothes and chilling me to the bone. I run a trembling hand through my hair where my fringe clings to my forehead and shut my eyes against the onslaught of water.

I feel my chest constrict, forcing shallow gasps of air out of my lungs and past my lips.

_Breathe, just breathe. It’s alright. He’s fine. He isn’t gone. He would never leave you like that. He would never just d—_

“George...?” The sound of my mother’s reproachful voice brings me to my senses. I feel a small hand come to rest against my arm and I clutch onto it desperately, clinging to it as though it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “Let’s go home, dear.” I nod, a small jerk of my head that is more of a reflex than an answer, and allow Mum to guide me back inside where the rain can no longer hide the tears streaming down my face.

But it’s not home without Fred, not really.

**

 _“ **Crucio!** ”_ _Every muscle in my body screams in anguish, twitching and burning as though hundreds of hot knives are piercing every inch me. I writhe against the hard floor, scraping my skin against the stone until I feel warmth pool around chest._

_I eventually manage to force my eyes open, and when I do, a hoarse scream tears its way out of my throat. Streams of red ooze out of the deep cuts in my chest, blood draining out of my trembling body like the push and pull of an ocean tide. I can feel liquid bubbling in the back of my throat and the horrible coppery smell of it almost makes me gag._

_“Fred, please. I didn’t mean to,” I beg, but the man standing over me, wand raised, shows no signs of offering mercy. “I’m sorry, Fred. I’m sorry!”_

_“ **You left me to die.** ” Everything about it is wrong, from the grim set of his mouth to the cruel anger shimmering in his eyes. But it is him, and he hates me. _

_I feel a gentle prod against my skin where Fred has placed the tip of his wand under my chin. The tenderness of it is more painful than any of the other tortures I’ve felt._

_He smiles._

_“ **Avada kedavra.** ”_

**

I can see the bright flash of green light even as I open my eyes. The dark room spins around me as I sit bolt upright and I feel a wave of nausea crawling up my throat. Struggling to disentangle myself from the sheets, I stagger out of bed and over to door, practically pummelling the wall until my hand connects with the switch and I have to close my eyes against the sudden attack of light.

Our bedroom looks exactly like the way we left it the day we moved to live above the joke shop. Clothes and dirty laundry are strewn across the floor, and the carpet is still burnt up at the bottom of my bed from when I accidentally set fire to it when I was ten. The walls are still that hideous orange I eventually grew to love, though the paint is beginning to peel away, and our Hogwarts trunks are still stuffed unceremoniously under our beds.

Fred’s side of the room was always neater than mine. At least a couple of his jumpers are actually folded instead of being scrunched up into little balls and thrown all over the place. I run my fingers through my dishevelled hair and saunter over to the mirror, rubbing sleepily at my eyes as the fragments of my nightmare begin to dissipate.

Dark freckles stand out against pale skin. A mess of fiery red hair sits atop my head, mussed up from sleep, and there are deep circles under my bloodshot eyes.

I don’t see myself, of course, I see _him_. And the bile rising in my throat at the thought of his lifeless body makes me want to lash out. I slam my hand against the desk and relish the aching sensation that ripples through my palm.

It’s already gone seven o'clock and still dark outside when I finally check the time. Giving up on any hope of falling asleep again, I pull on a jumper and head downstairs to make some breakfast. I only notice that the jumper is one of Fred’s when I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection from the glass kitchen window, but by that time I'm too far gone to care.


	2. All that's left are your bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubled spirits on my chest  
> Where they laid to rest.  
> The birds all left, my tall friend,  
> As your body hit the sand.
> 
> Million stars up in the sky  
> Formed a tiger's eye  
> That looked down on my face,  
> Out of time and out of place.
> 
> \- Of Monsters and Men, Your Bones

We eat in silence. Nothing but the sound of food being chewed and the occasional scrape of cutlery fills the quiet.

Bill and Fleur sit together at the end of the table, immersed in a quiet mutter of conversation, and Ginny keeps casting Harry reassuring glances as though he would get up and leave if he felt like she didn’t need him here.

A large pot of steaming hot soup sits in the centre of the table, resting on top of a dark placemat. Beside it there are several small plates filled with thick slices of bread for dipping. Mum always makes sure to cover the table in placemats because we’ve had the same ratty, old checked table cloth for years. She’s sentimental like that.

Charlie came home from Romania a week after the battle with considerably more burns than he left with, an occupational hazard of working with dragons. He crept into the house late at night, not swinging the door open and shouting his arrival like he normally would have, and Mum was waiting for him. She didn’t even say a word, just started crying, and I had to leave the room because it was too much. It’s always too much – seeing her like that.

Dad and Percy are hardly at the house at all. They work overtime almost every day, trying to help with the clean-up effort to root out all of the Death Eaters and corruption from the Ministry. Ron told me Perce didn’t exactly have a job there any more since he hexed the Minister right after saying he was resigning, but he volunteered to do the work nonetheless. As new Minister for Magic, Kingsley was glad to accept all of the help he could get.

I stare blankly at their vacant seats, chairs pulled out slightly from under the table and places laid in case they come home. They never do.

When the meal is finished, we all help Mum to wash up and tidy the kitchen. Once, there would’ve been plates flying all over the place. Ginny almost _always_ managed to coax Ron into having a dishwater fight and Fred and I were never allowed anywhere near the knives, bloody hell, not after what happened last time. But now, Mum slaves over the sink, thoroughly scrubbing down every single dish and utensil before carefully returning them to their drawers. I suppose it keeps her busy, and busy is the best thing to be at a time like this.

Sitting quietly at the table, I idly twirl my wand between my fingers while the others bustle around the kitchen, having finished my rotation of chores. I’ve almost zoned out completely when I hear Mum’s voice raise above the clatter.

“Fred, come and help me with the dishes.”

My heart practically leaps in my chest and I watch as Mum’s eyes widen in horror. She freezes on the spot and for a moment I think she’s going to scream or pass out. I clamber out of my chair as Bill rushes over to her, grasping her small hand and holding it in his.

“Mum...?” I say cautiously. She can’t even look at me.

“Oh, George, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mum—”

“I’m so sorry, dear.” I can hear the tremor in her voice, reigning in her emotions as though she fears they might burst out of her all at once. Next thing I know she’s hugging me tightly and crying into my chest. Bill stands by her side, soothingly rubbing her arm, and the others offer us sympathetic looks before slowly filing out of the kitchen to give her some privacy.

When she finally pulls away, I give her the biggest grin I can manage, putting as much reassurance and false bravado into it as possible. She reaches out a hand to cup my cheek with delicate fingers and I lean into the touch as she gently brushes her thumb across my jaw line.

She suddenly takes a shaky inhale of breath and eases herself away from me, standing so her arms are braced against the sink. I hear her sniffle before she starts picking up plates again and attacking them with the dishcloth.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help, Mum?” I ask reproachfully.

“No, dear, it’s fine,” she says in a rush. “You better head off to bed. We’re having an early start tomorrow.”

I feel a knot forming in my throat and force myself to swallow around it. Mum sets down the plate she’s holding, waiting to see if I have anything more to say.

I leave the kitchen without uttering another word.

**

Dark sheets of black draped from the ceiling of the Great Hall, fluttering silently in the chilling breeze coming from the open oak doors. The hall was still with tension and grief, every inhale of cold air leaving a bitter taste in the mouth.

Fred’s hand was wrapped around my wrist as Dumbledore sat hunched in his chair overlooking the rows of mourning children, speaking sombre words about a boy now dead. As I stared ahead, gaze locked onto the stain glass windows with tears brimming my eyes, I felt Fred’s grip on my wrist tighten.

I hardly knew Cedric at all, other than knowing he was an incredibly honourable person – even for a Hufflepuff – and ridiculously talented. And yet, there was this feeling of loss gnawing at my insides, something I never expected to feel with such intensity. It made me realise that I was completely capable of losing everything: my friends, my family, _my life._

Amos Diggory’s screams echoed through my thoughts, so full of grief and pain that it drags it me out of the dream until I am sitting upright in bed, gasping and shuddering with the sheets wrapped tightly around my ankles.

_I stared down at your lifeless body, offering you nothing but silence. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I still refuse to believe that you’re really gone._

**

_Fred Weasley  
1978 – 1998_

I brush my hand across the edges of the gravestone, feeling the rough mineral against my skin.

The wind is bitter and fast moving despite the arrival of summer drawing nearer. I repress a shudder as it rushes past me, ruffling my hair and gnawing at my exposed skin. The black, loose-fitting blazer Mum stuffed me into does nothing to block out the cold and I wrap my arms around my chest in an attempt to pull it tighter.

Fred wouldn't want us dressing in dark colours. He wouldn't want us standing around his bones and _weeping_ for what the war has taken away from us. If the prat was able to plan his own funeral he’d have us all telling stories about his great adventures, sharing a bottle of fire whiskey over a roaring flame. He once told me to scatter his ashes into the Black Lake so he could spend the rest of eternity living inside of a giant squid.

Even back then Fred thought he would be the first to go, and every time he brought it up I would say,

_“Not before me, you idiot.”_

I can remember the stupid smile plastered to his face when he would reply,

 _“Time doesn’t slow down for anyone, Georgie,”_ grinning like all of the wisdom in the universe was contained inside that pea-sized brain of his.

I feel tears stinging behind my eyes and quickly look upward, blinking them back before I can do something stupid like start crying again. Grey clouds hang low in the dismal sky, blocking out every ounce of the sun’s warmth and leaving nothing but frigid emptiness.

Flinching at the feeling of a large hand brushing against my arm, I turn and see Percy standing beside me. It’s comforting to know that my family is here with me, and Harry and Hermione, and even Hermione’s muggle parents.

Hundreds of mourning families are scattered around the graveyard, sobbing and clinging to each other, surrounded by rows of gravestones that map across the island. The trees arch over, bowing and swaying in the breeze, and I allow the whooshing of small waves lapping against the lake shores to wash over me.

The White Tomb is at the head of the graveyard where Albus Dumbledore lies buried beneath a giant stretch of marble. Professor McGonagall is crouched beside his resting place with Aberforth standing above her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

I feel a soothing presence by my side and watch as Hermione slowly draws out her wand, midnight dress fluttering in the wind. She kneels down and waves her wand smoothly in a circle, and a wreath of black roses appears, resting against Fred’s headstone. She stops next to Ron, lingering as she kisses his cheek, before leaving to comfort Harry at Remus and Tonks’ graves.

My eyes turn to the back of the congregation and I see a hooded figure standing not too far away from Filch, who is tenderly nurturing a small meadow of flowers. The figure is trembling, so much so that I’m surprised their legs haven’t given out beneath them. I see a flash of silvery white hair and pale blue eyes, and a sudden surge of anger boils through my blood.

The last contact I had with Draco Malfoy was my fist contacting with his stomach, and to see him _here_ of all places, shoulders shaking as he moves a trembling hand to cover his mouth. Malfoy finally lifts his head a little and I see that he is crying, cheeks red and puffy and stained with salty tears. The anger fades the longer I stare, unable to look away from this snivelling wreck of a boy. It’s difficult to believe that this is the same Draco Malfoy who was seen strutting about the castle with his posse of Slytherins in tow.  I glance around the graveyard but Lucius and his wife are nowhere to be seen. Draco came alone.

My gaze locks onto his and I watch as his eyes fill with fear. He staggers back, and I have to physically restrain myself from taking a stumbling step towards him.  
“What is it?” asks Ginny, voice laced with concern, but when I turn around to look for Draco he’s already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s funny because I saw a buttload of tumblr posts the other day that basically said:  
> 'You can write HP fic about anything just don’t write about George being sad and having to live in a world without Fred.'  
> Oops. Well, what can I say, I’m a terrible person. Don’t worry though, it will get less sad... and then more sad and you’ll probably hate me by the end of it. But it’ll be good, I promise (I hope).


	3. Dead hearts are everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me everything that happened  
> Tell me everything you saw  
> They had lights inside their eyes  
> They had lights inside their eyes.
> 
> Did you see the closing window?  
> Did you hear the slamming door?  
> They moved forward and my heart died  
> They moved forward and my heart died.
> 
> \- Stars, Dead Hearts

Warm light streams through the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, illuminating the towering trees that stretch up into the colour splashed sky. Their branches sway gently in the evening breeze, sweeping against the pink clouds like paintbrushes across a canvas.

I had to get away from it, from the sobbing and the grief and the rows of friends and family buried six feet under. Alone isn’t exactly what I want to be, but anything is better than being surrounded by people who treat me like glass, capable of shattering at any moment if they’re not too careful. I’m George bloody Weasley, not some terrified First Year, and the pity in their eyes has my stomach twisting into knots.

The setting sun reminds me that I should start heading back, painting the once bleak sky with soft reds and golds. But I’d rather stay here, away from the guilt and the non-stop crying.

Fred and I used to spend a lot of time in the Forbidden Forest, especially in our fourth year at Hogwarts. It’s where we found some of the rarest ingredients needed for the Skiving Snackboxes, stuff you couldn't just order to the school and expect no one to notice. Having McGonagall breathing down our necks was the last thing we needed, what with all the betting money coming in from the Triwizard Tournament.

It’s different without Fred – quieter, and as I head deeper into the heart of the forest the canopy thickens and the light starts to fade until it’s almost completely dark. The air here is thick and muggy, and I repress a shudder as I feel the cold seep through my clothes, settling in my bones.

Dead leaves crunch beneath my feet as I traipse through the woods, stopping suddenly when I feel something sharp poke through the tattered material of my shoe. I hiss loudly, feeling it press painfully against my foot, before springing away from the point of contact.

A dark stone lies buried in the leaf bed, sitting as though it’s been stamped into the ground. I kneel down and pluck it from the soil, running my fingers over its sharp edges. A strange triangular rune appears to be carved into the stone, tracing across its smooth black surface.

The sound of stumbling footsteps pulls me back to reality, and I hastily stuff the stone into my pocket, swearing under my breath.

“I thought you’d be out here.” I turn and see Ron standing with his back against a tree trunk, barely visible in the darkness and dressed in an all-black get up. He shuffles uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer, which is clearly too big for him. Ron sighs and steps towards me, glancing around the forest like it’s the last place he’d ever want to be.

“Mum’s looking for you,” he says nonchalantly.

“I know. I just needed some time to...” Ron’s eyes suddenly flicker towards a spot a few metres behind me and he stops dead in his tracks. I turn to the place that has drawn his gaze, staring quizzically at the empty space between two looming ash trees, which stand proudly in the soil.

“What is it?” I ask, with a hint of amusement.

“...You can’t see it?” Ron doesn’t startle at the abrupt sound of a branch snapping, while I glance frantically around the forest.

“Jesus, Ron, will you just tell me what the hell it—” A low whinny cuts me short and Ron’s eyes widen dramatically. His gaze follows the trail of soft footfalls until his eyes finally land on me.

“What is it?” I say through gritted teeth, not daring to move. Feeling something hard and scaly nuzzle against my shoulder, I freeze on the spot, flinching as it huffs out cold breath against my skin.

“Thestral?” I ask,

“Thestral,” Ron confirms.

I reach out a hand, caution be damned, and feel its leathery skin against my palm. If Ron can see it and I can’t then that means—

“You saw it happen,” it’s a statement, not a question, and it makes sense. Ron was with Fred when the wall exploded and he didn’t say a word, despite everything he saw.

“I should have been there,” I mutter,

“Yeah, well it happened, didn’t it? There’s nothing anyone could've done,” Ron says firmly.

Silence falls between us and Ron stares at the space where the thestral must be.

“You didn’t see anyone...you know...?” Ron asks, suddenly becoming very interested with a tuft of grass at his feet. He pokes at it with his shoe.

“No, I was with Kingsley’s lot. We all made it out, ’cept Remus and Tonks but they got separated from us.” Ron nods jerkily, straightening his shoulders as he looks back to the apparently empty space where the thestral stands.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Ron’s mouth, one full of warmth and understanding, and he reaches out a hand to stroke the creature’s skeletal body. Ron doesn’t pull away even when he realises how closely I’m watching him.

“Right, so there are two ways this could end: we leave now and go back to The Burrow, or we stay here and get eaten by giant acromantulas.”

“Aww, does ickle Ronniekins need his big brother to protect him?” I say teasingly.

“Shut up.” I turn away from Ron and place a hand in my pocket, absently running my fingers over the edges of the stone. I feel a wave of calm wash over me as I touch it.

“You coming or what?” Ron calls over his shoulder, and I realise that he’s already begun walking off.

“Yeah,” I reply, letting the stone drop and feeling it thud at the bottom of my trouser pocket.

**

There was a bright flash of blue light and a surge of heat washing over us when I felt something solid collide with my gut. I was thrown backwards, somersaulting through the air and landing in a heap on the floor. Rolling over breathlessly, I felt as though all of the air had been knocked out of my lungs.

Fred’s face swam in my vision. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me but I was positive that wrinkles and ageing lines were beginning to appear over Fred’s pale skin. I grabbed at my own face, feeling my features morph and twist as the protective enchantment placed on the Goblet of Fire worked its magic. Fred’s hair was greying rapidly. A white beard sprouted from his chin and was growing down to his chest, the contours around his eyes and mouth becoming deeper as seconds passed.

“You said!”

“You said —” the accusation caught in my throat as Fred’s bony hands clasped around my neck. I tried to pry his fingers off me, but before I knew it, we were locked in a fierce wrestling match while the other students chanted “Fight! Fight! Fight!” as we clawed and shoved at each other.

Even though Fred punched me in the face at least three times and I may have kneed him in the groin once or twice, we were both laughing. And the laughing didn’t stop until we were wheeled off to the hospital wing to have Madam Pomfrey force all kinds of horrible concoctions down our throats to reverse the ageing spell.

_I wish that wasn't the only time I got to see us grow old together._

**

Ron shakes me awake, mumbling something about a... _blue teddy bear?_ I groggily rub the sleep from my eyes before batting Ron’s hand away. He shrugs and leaves the room, but I follow after him, tottering down several flights of stairs until I reach the landing.

My journey to the lounge is briefly interrupted by my lack of clothing but when I finally enter the room, after hastily pulling on the same shirt and jeans I wore yesterday, I am greeted by a smiling baby with a bright blue tuft of hair sitting atop his head.

He waddles towards me and grabs onto my leg, happily muttering a garbled stream of “Orange, orange, orange.”

“Orange, huh? Like my hair,” I say, patting him gingerly on the head before his grandmother steers him away from me.

“Come on, Teddy,” she croons.

_Right, so this is the blue teddy bear Ron was referring to..._

Ginny shuffles over so I can take a seat beside her on the sofa and the material sags slightly beneath my weight. Warm, early-morning sunlight shines through the window, and when my mind is coherent enough to process the English language, I catch myself enjoying the conversations around me. The peace is short lived, however, when Teddy speaks up in a small, innocent voice.

“Mama... Where’s Mama?” A grave silence dusts the room. Teddy turns to gape distractedly at his grandmother, whose face has paled dramatically. She manages to choke out a heavy reply,

“She’s not here, petal.”

“Dada...?” Offering Teddy a watery smile, Mrs Tonks shakes her head.

 An icy shiver courses through me and I stand up, moving so quickly that my knees jar. Everyone turns to watch me for a moment – Mum, Mrs Tonks, Harry – and I see something in their eyes that makes my stomach drop _._

“Coffee,” I say sheepishly, retreating to the kitchen before another feeble excuse can tumble from my lips. I stand with my arms braced against the work surface, gripping my wand tightly in my hand.

“ _Accio._ ” A mug flies past me, grazing the spot where my left ear would have been. I swear loudly, whipping my head around to see Ginny leaning against the closed kitchen door with the rogue coffee mug in her hand.

“I’m a Chaser, remember?” she says, tossing the mug back to me. Fortunately, I have enough sense to catch it this time. “What was that all about?”

“Just getting a drink,” I grumble, twisting the coffee mug in my clammy palms.

“George...” She starts, and even though I’m looking away I can practically _feel_ her crossing her arms over her chest.

“Teddy’s lucky, right?” Not being old enough to realise what’s happened to his parents,” I stammer, setting the mug down on the surface to stop myself from fidgeting.

“I’m sure Harry would love to hear you say that.” I snap my head up, alarm flashing in my eyes.

“Crap, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” Ginny says sternly.

The walk of shame back to the lounge is made no less painful by the vexed expression plastered to Ginny’s face. I’m supposed to be the big brother but she seems to be the one looking after me more often than not.

Upon our return, Mum asks us what we were doing.

Ginny smiles and says, “Just grabbing a cup of coffee,” but I feel Harry’s eyes on me the entire time, and I swallow down my guilt until he finally looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise Teddy was born in April 1998, not even a month before the Battle of Hogwarts, but I’m making him a tad older for the sake of this story. Also Ginny is a badass (in the books at least) and I love her. Just thought I'd let you all know because she is my queen and she's gonna hopefully be brilliant in this fic.


	4. The bird won't fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are ghosts  
> We are ghosts amongst these hills  
> From the trees of velvet green  
> To the ground beneath our feet
> 
> We are ghosts  
> We are ghosts amongst these hills  
> Pressing out along the shore  
> Pressing out along the shore
> 
> \- James Vincent McMorrow, Ghosts

The wind howled as I soared through the night, hands clutching so firmly to my broom that it felt like my skin had frozen to the wood. Muscles clenched tightly against the cold, I watched icy breath leave my lips in a silvery mist, spiralling upwards and into the dark sky.

I could still taste the rancid polyjuice potion in my mouth and swallowed it down, leaning forward slightly as I dropped down to meet Lupin at the front of the formation. He glanced at me as I descended to fly in line with him and I flashed him a grin.

“Weasley twin?” he wagered, and it took me a moment to remember that Remus was staring at a five-foot-nothing kid with a lightning bolt scar, as opposed to a six-foot-something ginger with a much better fashion sense.

“Yeah, it’s George,” I said, and he nodded before swerving to the left to avoid flying through a cloud.

We used the dark smog as cover, hardly able to see anything but an expanse of grey, illuminated by the yellow light shining from the cluster of buildings below us.

A soft rumble echoed through the stillness, quieter than thunder but no less fierce. Brilliant flashes of blue light accompanied the sound, beaming above our heads, and I could already feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

“Stay close!” Mad-Eye called from the front, surging forward to scope out the area ahead. But a burst of green light broke through the cloud layer and suddenly Mad-Eye was falling, broom and body plummeting to the ground while I gaped in horror.

It was chaos. The sky was a swirling vortex of curses; flares of blue and green erupted from hooded figures, their black cloaks fluttering menacingly in the darkness.

I quickly drew out my wand and hexed a Death Eater who was gliding in parallel with Bill and Fleur. The hooded man froze midflight and Fleur hastily fired a jinx that had him tumbling into the empty countryside below.

Lupin and I tailed a group of Death Eaters pursuing Hagrid and Harry, picking them off one-by-one until Hagrid slammed a button on his motorbike and ignited the fuel, speeding into the distance with a trail of fire burning through the remaining attackers.

The shouts and screams of curses were beginning to die down when a cloaked figure appeared in front of me. I hardly had time to blink before they were raising their wand and—

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ” The cry rang out into the emptiness and I fell.

A hot pain lanced through my skull as I plunged through the darkness, and I felt a strong hand latch onto my arm, pulling me out as the world around me faded into nothing.

**

I wake with a hand grasping my forearm, gently shaking me until my eyes flutter open.

“Holy sh— _oh_ , it’s you.” I sigh loudly, raking a clammy hand through the mess of hair sitting atop my head. Taking a long shuddering breath, I watch Charlie walk over to my bedroom window, doing my best to lower my pulse rate before my heart bursts out of my chest.

“It’s nice to see you too, little brother,” he smirks, pulling the curtains open. “It’s a bit late to be sleeping in...” Charlie’s smile widens as I recoil from the sunlight streaming through the thin sheet of glass, and I pull the bed sheets over my head in an attempt to avoid being blinded.

Charlie always was shorter than the rest of us, passing only Ginny and Mum in height, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t kick mine and Fred’s arses when it came to duelling. All his time spent in Romania has left him freckled to the point he looks tanned, red hair contrasting with his golden complexion.

“Lunch is ready,” he calls, after grabbing a used mug from my bedside table to be washed downstairs.

“’M not hungry,” I grumble, groggily rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Yes you are,” and with that he’s gone, leaving the door wide open behind him.

And to think I missed the idiot while he was off in Romania playing house with a bunch of dragons. I never failed to tease him about the absence of a beautiful Romanian lady in his life. It was only fair seeing as he never failed to pull big-brother-rank on me when I got on _his_ nerves, but Charlie would just laugh and say “I’m not into all that,” and “Dragons are all the romance I need.”

I stumble out of bed and throw on a green jumper, stopping in front of the mirror when I see that it is one of Fred’s. It feels a little shorter but it’s honestly hard to tell which clothes are his when they’re strewn all over our bedroom floor.

Breath leaves my lips in short huffs as I pull the jumper over my head and toss it into an open cupboard. Mum says Fred’s name enough as it is; I don’t need another reason to confuse her.

Tugging on a white t-shirt and pair of jeans, I head downstairs, distractedly running my fingers over the stone I found in the Forbidden Forest. My breathing evens out and I eventually remove my hand from my pocket as I enter the kitchen.

Charlie being at home seems to have brought some life back into the house and, for the first time in a while, we don’t eat lunch in mournful silence. Mum is a little distant but she manages to get through the meal without crying or excusing herself, so it’s a start at least.

The conversation washes over me, too tired to pay proper attention, but I hear fragments of stupid arguments in-between mouthfuls of food.

“—Yeah, well Harry actually _fought_ a Hungarian Horntail so I think he beats you there, Charlie,” Ron says, chewing on a sandwich, oblivious to the food spewing out of his gob as he does so.

“For goodness sake, Ronald. Swallow—”

“ _Fought it?_ I tamed it!” Charlie interjects, waving a spoon around to emphasise his point.

“No offence, but it didn’t seem all that tame while it was setting me on fire,” says Harry, the hint of a smirk visible in his otherwise weary expression. Ginny lets out a laugh and Charlie raises his eyebrows, giving up on winning the argument.

Ron ends up finding another thing to challenge Charlie about so I resign myself to the shed, seeking refuge away from the noise, as wonderfully obnoxious as it is.

The corrugated metal walling eventually starts to feel like sitting inside a furnace, so I abandon the shed and seat myself on the hood of Dad’s car. The old Ford creaks gratingly as I find a comfortable position, and I lie back, reclining on the hard steel. The cool breeze blowing through my hair and the warm light of the sun dancing across the river makes it almost impossible to keep my eyes from falling shut.

With my hand buried in my pocket and the stone sitting in my palm, I sleep dreamlessly, my last memory of a familiar voice whispering “ _Sleep well, Georgie._ ”

And I do.

**

“I have no idea how you managed to fall asleep on this thing...”

I open my eyes to find a hunched over figure sitting mere centimetres away from my face.

“Ah – Charlie!” I yell, bolting upright and hastily removing my hand from my jeans pocket.

“George!” he yells back, but his grin stretches from ear to ear.

“I’ll get you back. I always do,” I threaten, looking about as intimidating as a pygmy puff because I can’t keep the laughter out of my voice.

Charlie and Fred discovered how easily I startle at a young age, and since then it’s been a hilarious idea of theirs to jump out at me when I least expect it. They tried doing it to Ginny once but she smacked them.

“Can’t get me if I’m in Romania,” says Charlie. My smile falters.

“...The distances you go to avoid a prank,” I mutter, shaking my head. “’Won’t help you. I’ll mail you a toilet seat.”

He looks at me quizzically, “Never mind. Ginny didn’t like it anyway.”

The clouds have taken on the dark blue colour of the sky, tinted with the warm orange glow of the setting sun. The air is a lot cooler now and I hop off the car hood to return indoors with Charlie following behind me.

He wishes me goodnight as I head to my room but I know there’s no chance I’ll be falling asleep any time soon. Instead I sit in bed with the stone in hand, wondering what it is about this stupid piece of rock that makes me feel like maybe everything will be alright.

Time passes. The sun sets and the night rolls on. Sheer boredom leads to drowsiness, but before I can move to change into my pyjamas, a flash of red hair and the sliver of a mischievous smile flickers in the hallway, and I let the stone fall from my hand, clattering to the floor.

His name sticks in my throat, clawing for release as my eyes dart around the now empty corridor.

The light goes out, fluttering and hissing until it finally diminishes – and my mind stops, heart hammering inside my ribcage as I sprint out of the room into the darkness awaiting me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have aromantic/asexual!Charlie feature in the fic, who just brushes his mum off when she innocently asks “have you found yourself a nice girlfriend?” and says he'd much rather spend his time studying dragons.


	5. Can you stand the person you've come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your Albatross, let it go, let it go,  
> Your albatross shoot it down, shoot it down  
> When you just can't shake  
> The heavy weight of living
> 
> Stepping forward out into the day  
> Shrugging off the dust and memory  
> Though it's soaring still above your head  
> It is out of sight and none shall see.
> 
> \- Bastille, Weight of Living (Pt. I)

I stumble across the landing, breath coming out in harsh gasps that send pain shooting through my lungs.

“Fred?” I hiss loudly.

The darkness doesn’t stir.  There’s no smug grin shifting in the shadows, no brown eyes flickering in the silence. Just me and the empty hallway, and the stone tucked securely in my pocket.

My eyes flit around the corridor, wand held tightly in my hand.

“ _Lumos._ ” A dim light shines in the dark, illuminating the blank walls and high ceiling.  
“Fred!” I call out, turning on the spot. Wooden floorboards creak beneath my frantic footsteps, spinning in circles until I hear someone draw in a breath behind me.

I freeze, diminishing the light with a low whisper of “ _Nox._ ”

The tense quiet is broken by the soft _tick, tick, tick_ from the clock in the living room downstairs.

A pale blue light appears and I whirl around to see Hermione standing behind me, dressed in a white top and checked pyjama bottoms.

“George...?” she says softly, and I realise that my gaze has been darting around the corridor, glancing at everything but her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. Hermione’s face softens like she’s heard the most blatant lie in the universe. “I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” she says with a sympathetic expression, dimming the light with a light flick of her wand. We head back to our rooms without saying any more, and I hope to God that Hermione doesn’t tell Ginny I was walking around the house at night, crying out for my dead brother.

**

The morning light is cold and harsh as it floods through my bedroom window, shaking me from another vivid dream that has me panting and trembling as I wake. Uncurling my left hand, which had clenched into a fist, I find the stone resting in my palm, leaving an imprint where it has pressed painfully against my skin.

Images from the nightmare begin to dissipate until the memory fades entirely, and I tumble out of bed to wash myself in the bathroom.

The cool water shocks me into wakefulness as I splash it across my face, cupping my hands under the running tap before massaging soothing circles into my skin. I towel myself off, carding a hand through my unkempt hair in a pointless attempt to tame it. I glance at the mirror as I do so and almost have a heart attack at the person staring back at me.

_Right, I still have to get used to that._

The reflection is not him. The grim set of my mouth doesn’t match Fred’s easy smile. The bags under my eyes, so dark they look like purple bruising, hold nothing to the eye-crinkles Fred used to get when he laughed.

I don’t want to attach my image to his. I don’t want to forget the cluster of freckles on Fred’s nose that spread out into dark constellations, dotting his cheeks; or the way his brow creased when he concentrated and how he laughed with his entire body. I don’t want to think of Fred and imagine a pale, tired man with an ugly scar at the side of his head where his left ear used to be.

Despite spending my whole life scoffing at Mum when she got Fred and I confused, it seems I can’t look at myself in the mirror without looking at him.

“ _Cheer up, Georgie. Moping around all day isn’t going to do yourself any good._ ”

I leap away from the reflection, heart pounding in my ears as his words echo through my skull. Eyes darting frantically around the bathroom, I sprint for the door, which has opened just a fraction, and slam it shut. My hands shake as I turn the lock before collapsing, back pressed against the wooden frame and knees drawn in to my chest.

“ _George, it’s me. I’m here. Get up for God’s sake. Come—”_

“—on, George! You’ve been in there for ages,” Ron whines, voice muffled from the other side of the door. He twists the handle a few times for good measure before retreating back to his room, grumbling as he goes.

I drag a hand through my hair, eyes squeezed shut, pulling myself to my feet and throwing the door open. I nearly send Harry flying as I hurtle down the corridor, but I manage to grasp onto his arm before he falls on his face.

“Sorry, mate. I didn’t see you there,” I say tiredly, patting him on the shoulder.

“No, it’s fine. Your mum just wanted me to tell you that breakfast’s ready,” says Harry, steadying himself against the wall before smiling awkwardly and heading downstairs.

Fortunately, I don’t bump into anyone else as I make a beeline for my bedroom, and as I push the door open I swear Fred’s side of the room has been rearranged. The clothes that were folded are now strewn across the desk and his Hogwarts trunk has been pulled out slightly from under the bed.

Maybe it’s just the sleep deprived paranoia talking, but I don’t take any more chances as I dig the stone out of my pocket and shove it into an empty drawer at the base of my wardrobe.

**

The week passes. I stay in bed for the better part of it and the stone remains lying at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Mum won’t stop bringing food up to my room, and when she asks me why I’m not eating, I come up with the excuse of ‘feeling ill’. A stupid excuse, really, because then she starts bringing up bowls filled with hot chicken soup and pumpkin juice spiked with muggle remedies that Dad keeps buying in London. Sometimes I flush half of the meal down the toilet just so she thinks I’ve eaten something, those are the days when the smile on her face as she collects my plate seems a little more genuine.

The clock in the living room strikes seven and the faint chiming echoes through the house. I listen out for the sound of Mum’s footsteps creaking up the wooden staircase until she’s knocking on my bedroom door.

I leap out of bed and head to my desk, attempting to make it look like I haven’t been doing nothing for an entire day. Old blueprints of joke shop products lay scattered across the table and I hastily pick up a blunt pencil before calling “Come in.”

Mum cautiously pushes the door open and the light from the lamp makes the tray of fish she’s carrying look almost golden.

“I brought you supper,” she offers, holding out a plate of haddock steaks resting on a bed of lettuce.

“Thanks, Mum,” I say quietly, taking the meal from her and placing it on the desk.

“You know you’re welcome to eat with us whenever you like, George. You don’t have to do this alone.” Her voice is soft and her eyes are warm as she reaches out a hand and gently cards it through my hair. I feel my shoulders slacken at the touch.

“I know. This stomach bug’s really giving me hell,” I lie feebly.

“...What are you working on?” she asks, indicating to the cluster of papers covering my desk.

“Nothing much, just a couple new ideas for the joke shop.” That’s a lie. Anything I manage to come up with is mediocre at best and always ends up shredded into pieces at the bottom of a litter bin with all my other designs.

Mum smiles and gives a slight nod of her head before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding, resting my forehead against the mess of papers.

“ _Lying to your own mother, what a villain,_ ” whispers the voice.

“Shut up,” I whisper back.

**

Two loud knocks on my door shake me from my nightmare, leaving me gasping and shivering under the bed sheets.

“Bloody hell,” I groan, “What is it?” Hermione peers around the door, already dressed in jeans and a casual t-shirt.

“Charlie’s leaving. Mrs Weasley thought you might want to know,” she says, concern etched across her features at my obviously disorientated appearance.

“Oh.”

Fred’s jumper lies at the foot of my bed and I put it on. Honestly, I feel more at home wearing his clothes than wearing my own these days. Hermione and I head downstairs together to see Charlie off, who is already fed and packed with three suitcases stacked around him.

Everyone seems a little surprised to see me, and I can’t really blame them, but Charlie pulls me into a bone-crushing hug nonetheless.

“Bye, little brother,” he croons.

“Alright, get off me you sappy idiot,” I say with a playful tone. We all take turns in saying our farewells and Mum cries a little, which isn’t really astonishing at this point.

“Make sure to send us a post card,” she says with a watery smile.

“Do I ever?” Charlie grins. Dad puts his arm around Mum, soothingly rubbing the small of her back, and with that Charlie is gone. I head back upstairs not much later.

The sun is bright in the sky and sweltering heat beats down against the thin walls of the house. I squint against the onslaught of light as I try to finish up drawing out another product design. But the ideas refuse to come so I scrunch up the scrap of paper and throw it across the room. It lands in the doorway by Ginny’s feet and I look up to find her glaring at me with a sour expression.

“Finally decided to emerge from your hidey hole?” she snarls, closing the bedroom door and folding her arms.

“Sorry, _Mum_ , didn’t realise you needed to see me.”

“Two weeks, George. Two weeks and you haven’t said a word to me – to any of us,” she snaps.

“What’s brought _this_ on?” I say defensively.

“Do you not realise how hard this has been for everyone?”

 _Oh, that’s what this is about._ “I just needed some time to...” Anger flashes in Ginny’s eyes.

“To _what?_ ” she yells, “What is it you’re doing that’s _so important_ it has the most daring man I’ve ever known cowering in his bedroom?!”

I feel my temper flaring, the tips of my ears burning bright red. “He was my brother, alright? And it feels like half of me’s missing now he’s not here and I can’t even _breathe_ half of the time! I—” I stop myself short as Ginny’s face falls, warning sirens and alarm bells ringing in my ear as her lower lip start to tremble.

“He was my brother too,” she whispers brokenly.

“...Ginny, don’t cry.” I barely manage to choke out three words before I’m enveloped in a strong embrace.

Tears drip silently down Ginny’s cheeks and onto Fred’s jumper.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble into her hair, resting my chin on top of her head.

“I know.”

**

Ginny stays with me for a while, simply crying her eyes out. I can tell she’s been holding a lot back, and now that she finally let go, the pain behind it is immense.

She heads back to her room once she manages to calm down, and I am left sitting in the dark as the sun sinks below the horizon and a full moon appears in the night sky.

The silence is sort of comforting and I lie back on my bed, staring up at the orange ceiling. I startle slightly at the door squeaking on its hinges, but my heart almost leaps into my throat when the wardrobe in the corner of my room begins to shake.

I flinch at the sudden noise, jumping out of bed as the bottom drawer repeatedly opens and slams shut. The stone flies out of the drawer, landing with a surprisingly heavy thud on the wooden floor and I scuttle forwards to retrieve it.

That’s when the voice comes back – _his voice_ , blaring in my head; loud and unintelligible and so horribly familiar. I dart out of the room, staggering down the stairs until I push the front door open and sprint into the cold night.

I feel my chest constrict, bringing shallow gasps of air flooding through my lungs.

_I don’t know what’s real any more – I don’t know what’s real any more – I don’t know what’s real—_

He’s waiting for me; pale and translucent, shimmering in the moonlight like a reflection trapped in a sheet of glass. I reach out a hand to touch him but it passes straight through, and I feel an icy chill spread through my fingertips.

“Fred...?” I stammer, tears welling in my eyes.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, twisting the otherwise blank expression into one of contentment, and I _know_ it’s him.

“I’m holy, George. Get it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as school has started again and is literally sapping all of my energy, I’ll be writing mainly on the weekends, so I can’t promise that updates will be regular. That being said, I will see this fic through to its end.


	6. Washed out in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view  
> And we'll live a long life.
> 
> So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
> 'Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
> But I will hold as long as you like,  
> Just promise me we'll be alright.
> 
> \- Mumford & Sons, Ghosts That We Knew

Dark clouds hang overhead, drawing in around the moon and dulling its light. I watch the ghost silently, until the cold bites at the white skin of my knuckles and a light shower begins to fall from the sky.

The ghost’s smile falters and the hand I reached out to touch him falls hopelessly by my side. He blinks at me, creasing his brow in the way he always did when he knew he’d upset his little sister. The thought of Ginny makes my heart lurch.

“...You died,” I choke out. The icy water battering against the earth does nothing to disturb his flickering image; it falls straight through him. Nature has no time to mourn the place of the dead.

“I managed to figure out that much for myself, funnily enough,” he says quietly. The ghost’s expression suddenly changes, glassy eyes widening in alarm. “What’re you crying for? I thought you’d be happy.” The break in his voice tells me otherwise.

“I’m not crying,” I say childishly, rubbing at my eyes with hands clenched into fists. That familiar smile appears on his lips again and I feel myself become lighter because of it.

“Right, it’s just raining on your face,” he says.

The air between us feels thick with words that neither of us got to say. _I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. It’s not your fault. I’ve changed and I don’t know how to go back._ The ghost’s mouth opens as though he’s going to say something but the silence remains unbroken. I raise my eyebrows, a poor attempt at encouraging him to speak his mind, when—

“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside? You kinda look like if Crookshanks stepped out of a lake.”

Everything is quiet, and for a moment it feels as though the rain has stopped completely.

I take in a sharp gasp of air before bursting out into a fit of laughter. Fred watches me sceptically as I double over, clutching at my drenched clothes and wiping tears from my eyes.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” he says, grinning fondly at me.

I manage to calm down enough to force a handful of disjointed words past my lips, “What _isn’t_ wrong with me?”

 Everything is all backwards. I’m having a conversation with my dead brother in the middle of the night while it’s pissing it down with rain, crying with laughter at a wet cat joke, but somehow it feels right.

“You make a good point,” he says, shrugging. It seems like an eternity since I’ve felt so like myself and the last thing I want is for the moment to end. I don’t say anything. Instead, I shake my hair out like a wet dog and laugh as Fred flinches away from the spray of water. I try not to dwell on the small sadness clinging to me when I think about how Fred can’t feel the rain or the cold, or the faint light of the moon. 

“If I go back inside, will you come with me?” I ask, hiding the tremor of uncertainty that threatens to creep into my voice.

“No, George. I’m just going to stand out here all night and twiddle my thumbs.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, young man.”

“What can I say, I’m a _free spirit_.”

I force my mouth into a straight line, despite the slightly hysterical laughter bubbling in my throat. “Right, rule number one of coming back to the land of the living: the ghost puns have _got_ to stop.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he grins stupidly. I stare at him for a long moment and he stares back, waiting for the imminent retaliation.

“Guess that settles it, then.” I sprint back inside and quickly shut the front door, laughing breathlessly as I lean against the wall. Fred walks through the closed door, regardless. I watch him with glee as he merges through the wood before coming to a halt. He wipes his feet on the doormat, forgetting that there’s nothing there to actually clean off.

“Please don’t make me make a habit of doing that,” he says, grimacing, “It feels bloody weird.”

“Yeah, yeah, Freddie. Whatever you say.” The soft ticking from the living room clock reminds me of how late it is and I slowly climb up the stairs with Fred behind me, making sure to steer clear of the creaky floorboards.

The corridors are practically pitch-black and I have to stop myself from glancing around every two seconds to make sure Fred is still with me. It’s really disorientating, not being able to hear a pair of footsteps following you.

We manage to reach our bedroom without waking any of the others, who are no doubt fast asleep by now, but I make sure to close the door before Fred can walk through. I hear him sigh from the other side and I raise a hand to muffle my laughter. He proceeds to clamber through the wood, complaining that he “hasn’t got the hang of it yet,” and “it isn’t as easy as it looks, you know,” with his pale arms poking through the wall.

**

“Oi.” The word held no bite to it but Fred’s voice was laced with irritation, “Since when were you taller than me?”

We were both stood in the boys’ dormitory, wearing our tacky, hand-me-down dress robes, smelling like dust and elderly people. The Yule Ball started ten minutes ago and here I was, tying Fred’s ribbon tie for him.

“I’ve always been taller than you,” I said with a laugh, pulling the knot tighter to stop it from coming undone. Fred glowered up at me and I stood on my tip toes to further prove my point. “See?”

“Yeah, right,” he grimaced, lightly shoving at my shoulder, “everyone knows, I’m the tall one; you’re the short one.”

“Turn around.”

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Turn around. We’ll settle this right now, back to back.”

Fred huffed, throwing up his hands dramatically, and swivelled on the spot so that his back was pressed against mine. He suddenly let out a cry of anguish and I knew I had won.

“No fair! When did that happen?” he yelled incredulously.

“The mirror never lies,” I said with a smirk. He was quiet for a moment and I thought maybe there was something else bothering him. If he was still upset about the outcome of our bet on the First Task then he had another thing coming. Neither of us expected the Hungarian Horntail to break free – and since when did Fred hold grudges?

“...I look bloody ridiculous,” he grumbled.

“No you don’t,” I said a little too quickly. “Have you seen Ron? If you think _this_ is bad just wait ’til you see him.” Fred didn’t respond and stepped away from me to find his shoes, rummaging through the pile of rubbish littering his bed. “D’you really think Angelina’s going to care? Besides, if you look bad then that means _I_ look bad, and frankly that’s just rude.”

A small smile tugged at Fred’s mouth as he sat down on the edge of his bed and began tying his shoe laces. “Of course you look bad. Even if I am the short one, I’m still better looking than you,” he smirked.

“You wish.”

I stood patiently by the door until Fred was ready to leave. He wouldn’t stop fiddling with his ribbon tie and I had to slap his hand away on multiple occasions to stop him from ruining my handiwork.

“Will you stop that,” I nagged, smacking him on the wrist for the umpteenth time. He didn’t stop fidgeting until we had descended the stairs and were crossing the common room.

“Hey, George,” he said, finally stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets where they could do no more damage.

“Yeah, Fred?”

“...Thanks.”

I broke out into a grin, playfully nudging him in the arm and he smiled back with equal fervour. The portrait hole swung open and we exited out into the corridor where Angelina and Lee were waiting for us.

_Despite the fond memory, I still awake in tears._

**

My eyes flutter open. It’s still dark outside, and if I listen closely, I can hear Ron’s loud snores echoing through the house. The stone rests in my unfurled palm and I sleepily lift a finger to trace its smooth edges. When I look over to the bedroom door, heart pounding in my chest, Fred isn’t there.

I roll onto my side, allowing the tears collecting in my eyes to trickle silently down my cheeks. Somewhere amidst the painful loss gnawing at my insides, I drift back to sleep, dreaming of his image flickering in the moonlight where flesh and blood have long been buried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha sorry it took me like a month to update. I have no excuse, other than the fact that teachers like to do this thing where they give me an assload of homework and school does this thing where it saps me of all my motivation and creativity.
> 
> EDIT: this fic is currently on hiatus. i don't know when it will update because, at the moment, i'm finding it easier and more enjoyable to write AUs rather than stories that develop existing canon. i really hope it's soon though, thank you for reading


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